Hazardous to Your Health

By J. Scott Olmsted, American Hunter Editor in Chief

Many hunts can be described as hours of boredom punctuated by fleeting instances of action. Few put a knot of anxiety in your stomach like a hunt for dangerous game. Fewer still are punctuated by sheer terror if things don't go according to plan and the quarry is outfitted with claws, fangs or horns capable of ripping a man's gut from belt to throat.

Whether it's on the trail of our infamous brown bear or a member of Africa's Big 5, the dangerous game of the world, the hunters who pursue it and the hardware they use represent a triad of beast, man and metal so alluring as to be almost toxic. Whether you have pursued something that bites back or merely thought about it, you are influenced by the experience.

I have swung for brown bears twice and whiffed, but I still hope for at least one more walk to the plate. I probably never will kill an African lion mainly because the expense of such an undertaking is far beyond my means, but that doesn't mean I don't dream about it. I never have hunted elephant, either, but that will change later this year. I'll keep you posted. Or not.

I vividly remember the reaction of a friend of mine when I described how a companion and I would hunt leopard in Zimbabwe. There, cattle-killing cats are hunted legally at night over bait.

"We'll check baits daily," I said. "When we find one that's been hit, we'll freshen it with an impala we kill, build a blind then wait through the night. The PH and his crew will set up a spotlight on a rheostat above the bait. When we detect a cat on the bait, he'll slowly crank up the light and we'll shoot the cat. If the shot's on the money, the cat should fall from the tree dead. But likely as not we'll have to follow it into the bush and find it with flashlights."

"You mean you might have to follow a wounded leopard in the dark?" asked my buddy.

"Yep," I replied.

I can't repeat what he said next. Suffice to say he didn't think much of the plan. I must confess I wasn't keen about it, either, but when one flies halfway around the world he's obliged to do as he's told else risk going home empty-handed, or worse.

In the end we struck out on leopard, which is typical, but we each killed a buffalo. The pursuit of those magnificent beasts convinced me I had found my clarion call as a hunter.

A Cape buffalo hunt is a dynamic affair full of many things: hours of tracking in the hot sun; moments of confusion when sizing up bulls in a herd; nervous seconds while squatting, surrounded by dozens of critters the size of small cars all capable of stomping you to death; staring back at a beast that seems to ask, "What are your intentions?"; and if you're blessed, placing a well-aimed bullet that tests not only your marksmanship but your mettle. My first bull dropped to a 300-grain TSX through the brain. I wracked the bolt at the report of the rifle but the bull was dead when he hit the ground. I could hear Howard Cosell bellowing, "Down goes Frazier! Down goes Frazier!"

Fascinating? You bet. But I wasn't scared. There was no time to be scared. That moment came last year on my third bull, when I stood mere feet from four dagga boys. So close I could literally smell them, I was sure I could thread a bullet through the brain of the one on the right but ...

When dangerous game is on the menu, your main job—if you love your family—is to be sure you're not also on the menu.

Elkspeak

If you expect to wade into the timber and come out with a trophy, you'd better understand the language of your quarry. Elk make a variety of vocalizations—some music to a hunter's ears, others, not so much.

Bugle

It's the sound bulls make to attract cows and express dominance to the herd. Blow a bugle call to locate a bull then use it to keep tabs on one that answers you while sneaking closer.

Mew

Cows use this and other socially positive, high-pitched sounds like squeals and chirps to keep track of herd members. Learn to make them with a diaphragm mouth call to cover your mistakes during movement to contact. When you pop a stick underfoot, mew softly, as if to tell the herd, "Everything's okay over here, folks—just us elk moving about."

Grunt

A herd bull does this to cows straying from his harem in an attempt to keep them close. If you hear this you're close enough to determine if in fact a satellite is challenging the herd boss for dominance, and thus size up your opportunity to bag either bull.

Barks, Bleats & Whines

Cows warn the herd of danger with barks. They signal their calves with soft whines. And calves signal their mothers with distressed bleats. If you hear any of these vocalizations chances are the jig is up.

At this year's Texas Truck Rodeo, the Texas Auto Writers Association named Ram Trucks worthy of delivering true Lone Star State capability. We're proud to announce Ram Trucks roped in some respected awards, including the highly coveted title of Truck of Texas for the 2011 Ram 1500. No small feat in a state that's known for big things—like standards for their trucks.

2011 Ram Outdoorsman: JFull-Size Pickup Truck of Texas. From open range to thick backwoods, Ram Outdoorsman has the off-road capability to take you where ordinary trucks can't. Rugged, all-terrain tires, heavy-duty cooling, enhanced lighting and available RamBox storage with Mopar gun and fishing rod holsters making heading into the sticks more fun than ever.

Like the fossilized skeletons of its ancestors displayed in the Smithsonian, a 12-foot alligator can be scary even when it's dead—something that Shooting Illustrated's Adam Heggenstaller learned in person during a gator hunt in Florida. Read More »

1976

The year that Sumner, Mo., erected a statue of "Maxie" to commemorate being the "Wild Goose Capital of the World."

65 Feet

Maxie sports a 65-foot wingspan while resting on a cinderblock building in a community park.

4

The number of cackling subspecies.

fast fact

The cackling goose, a smaller-bodied goose prominent in Canada and Alaska, is a tundra-breeder with considerably more black plumage than the Canada. At one time, the cackling goose was considered the smallest subspecies of the Canada, but is now recognized as a separate species.